


Incentive

by Tangela



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-29
Updated: 2016-08-29
Packaged: 2018-08-11 19:11:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7904311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tangela/pseuds/Tangela
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chekov should worry about his captain more often. (A fill for a prompt on tumblr.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Incentive

**Author's Note:**

> This is literally just porn, zero plot, written for Exorin. Enjoy!

Jim Kirk is the king of near death experiences, and this time is no different – what started as a peaceful conference between himself and his away team and Starfleet’s next hopeful planet of recruits into the Federation quickly descended into an argument of moral ethics and ended into Kirk and the away party in a fist fight with almost everyone in the room. McCoy insists he was lucky he got out when he did, otherwise there may not have been much of him left to patch up. He’s sent back to his quarters a few days later to rest, much to Kirk’s disapproval, but he knows better than to argue with McCoy, and begrudgingly agrees.

The door chimes sometime in the evening, and Kirk groans, assuming that it’s either Spock or McCoy to check up on him _again,_ setting his book aside and forcing himself off his bed. He has healed considerably over the past few days, thanks to the doctor’s mothering, but he’s still a little stiff and bruised.

The door slides open to reveal neither Spock nor McCoy, but Chekov. Kirk smiles down at him, a little taken aback. “Mr. Chekov, to what do I owe the pl-“

He doesn’t even get to finish the question when Chekov grabs his shirt and pulls him down to kiss him. Kirk’s eyes widen, circuits overloading in his brain, and he pulls back, putting an arm around Chekov and ushering him into his quarters.

“Mr. Chekov-“ he tries again, and Chekov shakes his head.

“You could hawe died,” he says quietly, “And I never vould hawe- I couldn’t-“

Kirk tilts Chekov’s head up and smiles. “I’m still here, aren’t I?” he murmurs, and Chekov takes this as a cue to continue what he’d started, wrapping his arms around Kirk’s neck and pulling him down to kiss him again, harder, and this time Kirk doesn’t pull away. He has a lot of questions, of course he does, but Christ, he’s not going to ask them now, not when Chekov is pressed so close to him and kissing him like his very life depends on it. He slides his arms around Chekov’s waist, managing to direct them to his bed. His knees hit the bed and he collapses down, pulling Chekov down with him. Chekov pulls back, breathless, arranging himself so that he’s now comfortably straddling Kirk’s hips. Kirk looks up at him, a smile playing on his lips. He’s still bewildered, a moment ago he was reading quietly and the next he has a lapful of Russian to contend with.

“I vas vorried sick about you,” Chekov’s saying, and Kirk puts his thoughts to one side, raising an eyebrow.

“And this is…what, might I ask?”

“A velcome home present?” Chekov offers, hips starting to move against Kirk’s, and Kirk ignores the dull ache in his ribs, concentrates instead on the feeling of Chekov’s body pressed against his hardening cock.

“Well, it’s very much appreciated, Ensign. Will I be expecting this kind of treatment from the rest of the crew?” He’s joking, of course, but he sees how Chekov’s eyes darken as he shakes his head. _‘Is he...jealous?’_ And fuck, if the thought alone isn’t one of the hottest Kirk’s ever had – Chekov jealous and possessive, demanding Kirk all to himself.

“Just me.”  Chekov leans down to press a kiss to Kirk’s jawline. “I hope,” he adds in a murmur and Kirk gasps as Chekov’s teeth bite into his skin. _‘That’s gonna leave a mark tomorrow for sure.’_ He trails his hand into Chekov’s hair, pulling him up to kiss him hard. Chekov’s had his fun, but it’s Kirk’s turn to take charge now.

Chekov sighs against his mouth, hips still moving against Kirk’s, and Kirk can’t help but smile as he feels just how hard Chekov is already, and he’s barely touched him. He trails his fingers up under Chekov’s shirt, along his stomach and chest, until Chekov is pulling back to help him pull it off. He takes the hint, pulling off the rest of his uniform with as much reckless abandon, thin fingers eagerly undoing Kirk’s trousers and pulling them down. Kirk just smiles. _‘Oh, to be young again.’_

Chekov pulls Kirk’s shirt up, eyebrows knitting into a worried frown as he registers all of the healing bruises across Kirk’s torso. Kirk just smiles, running a finger across Chekov’s jawline.

“It’s alright, honestly, Bones says I’m healing nicely,” he reassures him, and Chekov nods, leaning down to press gentle, teasing kisses across each bruise, moving lower until his lips are against Kirk’s cock. Kirk huffs a shaky breath, and he can feel Chekov’s cocky smile against his skin. He swats gently at Chekov’s shoulder. “Don’t tease me, just- just get on with it already,” he orders, his voice anything but commanding, his back arching as Chekov does as he’s told and takes him into his mouth, until his nose is against Kirk’s stomach. Kirk’s left speechless, eyes blown wide. He always thought of Chekov as his sweet, shy Ensign who would turn bright red if someone even kissed him, and here he is, settled between his own Captain’s legs with his cock in his mouth. Kirk is certain he has a concussion and McCoy had just missed it in his examination. That has to be it, there’s no other way to explain this. He’s forced to put this thought on hold as Chekov begins to move, heading bobbing up and down, pulling back enough to drag his tongue along the tip of Kirk’s cock before sinking back down again. Kirk’s hand is in Chekov’s hair, grip tight, trying to restrain himself from fucking Chekov’s mouth and choking him. As if Chekov had read his mind, his fingers grip into Kirk’s hips, holding him in place and Christ, Kirk has had it confirmed, Chekov possessive and wanting and claiming him as his own is definitely one of the hottest things he’s ever experienced, gladly handing control over.

“Chek- Ah, _Pavel_ \- I’m gonna- fuck, I’m-“ he stammers, unable to string a coherent sentence together.

Chekov pulls back, looking up at Kirk through his long eyelashes. “Come for me, Keptin,” he commands, and he barely takes Kirk back into his mouth before he’s coming, back arching and breathing well beyond his control. Chekov sits up, looking very pleased with himself, wiping a little of Kirk’s come that escaped from his lower lip and licking it from his finger in a most obscene manner.

“Well?” he prompts, cocking an eyebrow, and Kirk manages a laugh through his erratic breathing.

“I’m definitely gonna get myself nearly killed more often if this is what I’m gonna come back to.”

Chekov lightly hits Kirk’s chest in indignation and Kirk laughs again, pulling Chekov down and kissing him.

“Now,” he says in a low voice, suddenly very serious, “how can I possibly repay you for that?”

Chekov pretends to think about it – why else would he be sitting here completely naked if he wasn’t expecting more? He slowly trails his fingers along Kirk’s cock. He hisses, still sensitive, and he pushes himself up to lean back on his hands.

“Hey, let an old man recover, would you?” he says with a smile and Chekov laughs, sliding his arms around Kirk’s neck and kissing him, a long, lazy kiss that leaves Kirk’s body humming. Chekov carefully puts Kirk’s shirt off, gently touching each bruise along his torso, as if he’s marking navigational points at his console. He presses his lips to the blooming mark on Kirk’s neck, _his_ mark, tracing it with his tongue and Kirk’s breath stutters in his throat, Chekov’s fingers brushing up his sides, nailing pressing just hard enough to bite into his skin. Kirk groans, he can feel his cock making a valiant effort to get hard again as Chekov drags his hips against him, with all the grace of an Argelian dancer, though Chekov is far prettier than any dancer Kirk’s ever laid eyes on.

“Keptin,” he murmurs against Kirk’s lips, and _God,_ if his voice isn’t the most beautiful sound – low and husky and accent thicker than usual – “I’ve thought of how you can repay me.”

Kirk trails his fingers along the faint ridges of Chekov’s spine. “Oh? And how’s that?”

Chekov presses a hard kiss to Kirk’s mouth, biting his lip as he pulls back. “Let me ride you.”

And it’s not a question or a request, it’s a goddamn _demand_ and Kirk’s wondering who he needs to thank for this sudden bout of good luck in his life. He tries to stretch back to his bedside cabinet and Chekov stops, takes Kirk’s hardening cock in one hand and lines himself up, sliding down into his easily. It quickly dawns on Kirk – _‘little shit’s had this planned the whole time’_ – and the thought of Chekov stretching himself out with his own fingers, whimpering and gasping, barely enters his mind when Chekov rolls his hips once, and Kirk’s eyes almost disappear into the back of his head with how _good_ Chekov feels - tight and hot and _fuck_ , he presses a hand to Kirk’s chest, gently pushing him back down onto the bed.

Chekov runs a hand through his curls as he slowly moves his hips against Kirk, building a steady rhythm, and he looks so focused, so in control that if Kirk couldn’t see just how hard he was between them, he’d think Chekov was completely unaffected by all of this. He attempts to match Chekov’s movements, thrusting up into him and Chekov frowns, although Kirk can see on his face how good it feels. Chekov takes Kirk’s wrists in his hands and pins them above his head and Kirk feels like he’s had the air knocked out of him – who was this person and what had they done to his sweet little Ensign?

“I’m in charge, Keptin, don’t forget that,” he murmurs as if Kirk’s an idiot for thinking otherwise.

All Kirk can do is nod, brain trying to piece together just what the hell is going on, and Chekov’s moving again, riding his cock with an increasing pace, and Kirk knows already that he’s not going to last long, neither of them are. Chekov’s face is flushed, lips wet and eyes half-lidded, and all notion of Chekov as a fragile, innocent little thing are _gone_ – the kid looks like sin, riding him like he was born for it, and the _noises_ coming from him – moaning and whining and swearing in Russian – Kirk knows he’s getting close, he has to be, and almost on cue, Chekov releases Kirk’s wrists, pulls one hand to wrap around his cock. Kirk doesn’t need to be told twice, he slides his hand up and down Chekov’s cock, Chekov gasping and whimpering above him, starting to lose control, his pace frantic now and _finally_ he comes, body shuddering and clenching around Kirk, and Kirk’s right behind him, seeing stars. Chekov’s pace drops, slowly riding out the last of his orgasm before he carefully pulls himself free of kirk, collapsing next to him on the bed. It takes them both a while before either of them can form a sentence, the room filled with their heavy breathing.

“That’s a better prescription than Bones has ever given me,” Kirk says finally, and Chekov laughs.

“I don’t think he vould agree vizh you.”

“Maybe not, but you can’t argue with results, I feel a lot better already.”

That’s a lie, Kirk knows he’ll barely be able to walk tomorrow, but it was more than worth it. Chekov presses a kiss to Kirk’s shoulder.

“Please try and be more careful next time,” he scolds, and Kirk shrugs with a cocky smile.

“Only if you promise not to fuck me senseless any time I’m not.”

Because honestly, Kirk would happily dance with death a lot more often if it meant more of _that._

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! If you liked it and have a prompt or something, feel free to stop by my [tumblr](http://tanjell-o.tumblr.com/) and drop me an ask!


End file.
